


Missed You

by sachie



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: ? - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Vanilla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 11:22:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1646846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sachie/pseuds/sachie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred visits his lover in London without so much of a warning. Arthur acts unamused. But it was a long time coming, and Arthur doesn't exactly mind, especially as Alfred presses his lips against Arthur's, deeply yet softly, gently yet longingly; their own way of communicating the words of "I missed you"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missed You

For the past three days, it had been raining nonstop along the norther part of London, making the travel from the airport to Arthur's house a bit rocky. Alfred had been staring out of the window and following raindrops sliding down the window of one of London's cabs for the past twenty minutes ever since he'd arrived to pay Arthur a quick visit (which wouldn't exactly be as it sounds considering the drive and the plane ride and now _this_ cab ride to Arthur's little apartment up north of his capital).

Light blue orbs lazily directed its attention towards the rising numbers indicating the fare he'd be paying for the trip. Alfred frowned and patted around his jeans to fish out his wallet, and found it inside his bomber jacket instead. He placed it on his lap and kept a firm grip on it, thumb tracing on the worn out leather edges as his eyes looked back out and watched as buildings cramped side-by-side had passed him.

After tens of years going back and forth into this rainy old city, Alfred still wasn't used to the fact that they drove on the wrong side of the road.

There was another quick left turn and the American briefly wondered why the cab drivers weren't using any GPS' like they would back in America. Maybe Arthur had his taxi drivers memorize the roads and curves of confusing ol' London? That was interesting. He'd have his drivers memorize the outline of every populated city but that would be too troublesome. Then he'd have to pay them more and the government would end up whining about it.

Then his thoughts of London and his people faded and fully turned onto Arthur, and he smiled fondly. Damn, he missed his stingy Brit. Alfred rested his cheeks on his palm and reminisced about Arthur's dumb burnt food and his stubborn unruly hair and his firm pout and his stupidly thick eyebrows and his lovely bright emerald eyes and his beautiful... beautiful smile.

And when was the last time Alfred had seen him—half a year? It wasn't even that long, and Alfred was already dreamily imagine the sound of his soothing voice and the touch of the tips of his fingers like a damned love-struck teenage girl.

The cab pulled up beside a small bricked apartment that looked downright drenched by the continuous downpour of the rain and pulled Alfred out of his lovesick trance. He barely registered the cab driver announcing their arrival and checked the numbers on the counter, before paying him the amount with an extra tip. Then he pulled his luggage out of the cab and shut the door firmly close.

Well. He hoped Arthur was home—or else he'd be stuck out of his door looking like a grounded teen.

The elevators were in repair and so he had to carry his heavy luggage up five flights of stairs—which, mind you, wasn't such a big deal due to his unusual strength, though still left him breathing a bit shallowly and his muscles tense from the sudden weight put on it. Alfred walked down towards the end of the hallway with his box stacked on top of his luggage, searching for room 502.

Then he took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

"Wait!" came an oh-so familiar voice through the door and Alfred bit his lip and tried to tone down his smile but _what the hell Arthur was just on the other side of the door and—_

He knocked again this time, with more assurance and enthusiasm and _noise_ , and then there was angry mumbling from the other side of the door that sounded suspiciously like "bloody fucking hell I said _wait_ I'm not even in proper clothes if this is terribly unimportant I swear to _god_ "

Followed by fumbling and the sound of the door being unlocked.

And then the door swung open and _there_ he was, a grumpy expression in his face, in Alfred's old button down shirt (which he'd left here his previous visit and seemed a bit too big on him) and his Union Jack boxers and his hair more messed up than it usually would be and he absolutely looked _perfect_.

Arthur's scowl morphed into one of plain shock. "Bloody hell, Alf—"

Alfred had cut him off and let his luggage fall inside the room and noisily onto the wooden floor and literally pulled Arthur into his arms, lips pressing against each others' softly and firmly and _hungrily_ at the same time. Arthur made a surprised noise and then a contented one and then suddenly there were fingers threaded into Alfred's damp hair and Alfred smiled into the kiss, and looped his arms around Arthur's scrawny waist, pulling him closer.

"Hey," he whispered against Arthur's lips.

Arthur leaned up to meet his lips again, softly, and held his head in his hand, before moving closer and pinching Alfred's cheek. "Hey yourself."

The _I miss you_ from both sides were left unsaid.

Alfred's light blue eyes opened and met Arthur's emerald orbs and pressed another kiss—this time firmer—on his lips before letting go, barely noticing the whine of protest from Arthur. He smirked at him and Arthur glared at him in return, colour rising up to his cheeks.

Arthur cleared his throat and wordlessly dragged Alfred's belongings into his bedroom while Alfred locked the door behind him, his eyes on Arthur's retreating back. Once he disappeared into the room, he let his eyes wander around the small apartment, noticing a few changes—there was a new coffee table placed in the middle of his living room and there were more paintings and crochet works up and framed on the wall and there was a new potted plant by the corner of his kitchen.

He took off his damp jacket and hung it on one of the vacant arms of the coat rack, right beside Arthur's brown and raven coloured coats, then placed his shoes beside the door. Normally he'd leave it scattered around, but.

When Arthur resurfaced from the bedroom. Alfred was surprised (and a little bit pleased) to see he hadn't changed out of his old clothes and was still waddling around the apartment in his boxers. He ignored Alfred's gaze and went straight into the kitchen, his face colouring with every step.

"So. Do you want to drink anything?" He said, aware of the fact that Alfred had followed him into the kitchen and was now sitting on one of his chairs by the dining table.

"Coffee. Do you have them?" He asked.

Arthur nodded. "Not that I drink them. They still taste like horse shit—but I keep them here for visitors. With milk and sugar?"

Alfred's lips turned up into a half-smile. He knew quite well that Arthur kept his stacks of coffee for him, and that he had absolutely no ability to make any friends unless he's forced to. With the exception of pleasant old people. "A lot of milk and two sugars."

The Brit licked his lips and stared at him with raised eyebrows.

He didn't know if he was supposed to be turned on at the display or deflated knowing as to why Arthur was staring at him with expectant eyes. He settled with the latter. " _Please_."

Arthur smiled and filled the electric kettle before plugging it in. And then leaned on the counter. "Now," he said, looking at Alfred, who looked back at him with smiling eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"What, kicking me out so soon?" Alfred asked teasingly, and Arthur's face dropped into a frowned. Before he could protest and rearrange his question into a more polite one, the American interrupted him, turning around so he could place his chin onto the back of the wooden frame of the chair. "Can't I just visit?"

Arthur crossed his arms. "And what would you have done if I was out with some people?"

"You don't have friends."

"I-! I'll have you know that I—that's completely off besides the point! You should always call or mail or, or use those technological things of yours to warn me that you'll visit!" Arthur said, his lips onto a firm frown.

Alfred pouted and pressed his nose into the polished wood from the chair and stared at Arthur, who stayed leaning onto the cold marble counter and seemed to start withering under his intense gaze. "But it was worth it seeing you in my shirt and in your boxers, so."

Arthur started bristling and the red began creeping up from his neck to the tips of his ears and onto his cheek, and he pulled down the end of the shirt to cover as much thighs as he could, but only served to cover his boxers and really, really seemed delectable in Alfred's eyes. Alfred licked his lips. "It—it's just because I had nothing warm to wear! I didn't just wear this because this was _yours_ or that I missed you or anything, don't get me wrong!"

"You have a shit ton of sweater-vests and sweaters in your closer, Artie." Alfred grinned.

Arthur mustered up a glare despite his embarrassment. "They were all in the laundry!"

"You do your laundries every Friday. That was yesterday, sweetheart." said the American, and stood up, slowly walking over to the embarrassed Briton. Arthur looked like he was well on his way to turning into a shade of purple and had started blabbering excuses to hide that fact that he did indeed wore it because he missed Alfred like crazy.

Then his back was pressed onto the sides of the cold counter and Alfred had his arms on either side of Arthur, trapping him in. Alfred leaned in so close that he could feel the others warm breath on his neck and eyed the bright red shell of Arthur's ears, the tip of his nose awkwardly nudging Arthur's cheekbone. And then whispered rather bluntly, "You make me so horny when you wear my clothes."

Then promptly kissed the hell out of Arthur.

Arthur made an embarrassed grunt as he had the oxygen knocked out of him by the force of the kiss, groaned deep into his throat as the impact left him staggering as backwards as he possibly could, and then sighed in abandon against Alfred's demanding lips before kissing back with enough force to push him off.

The kettle whistled between them and both Alfred and Arthur blindly tried to unplug the thing while simultaneously being physically attached to each other. Arthur, knowing his kitchen better than Alfred, had found it first with closed eyes and a busy mouth and before he could go back to wrapping his arms back around Alfred's shoulders, Alfred had taken his wrists into his hands and entwined their fingers together, rubbing circles with his thumb.

Alfred nudged a tongue onto Arthur's pressed lips and the Brit parted them, tilting his head to one side to deepen the kiss and pressing his tongue back against Alfred's. The American groaned, pleased at the response and brought a hand down the other's back, tracing along Arthur's spine through his own shirt.

Thin, dainty hands had traced the shape of his face, down his jaw and along his neck and especially caressing the soft skin of his baby face and Alfred didn't know if he was allowed to take the action the wrong way and simply dismissed it as wishful thinking.

(But he'll never know that Arthur was trying to memorize the touch of Alfred's skin and Alfred's smile and Alfred's everything for the lonely nights he would spend in bed, staring and counting at the cracks in his ceiling. Yearning for warmth on the other side of his bed. Especially from _him_.)

The tiles under their feet were cold from the wind blowing through the opened windows of his apartment, and Alfred shivered at the lack of clothing on his feet as he stepped back, guided by Arthur as they made their way to the bedroom. The lights were off and it was dark all except for the lights in the kitchen and from outside. Alfred stumbled blindly into Arthur's bedroom, his shoulders bumping on the door frame on their way in and the back of his ankles hitting the bed frame of the king sized bed.

But Arthur started biting and suckling and licking at many places on Alfred's neck and the rest of the pain from his shoulders and his feet didn't matter because all there was to notice was _Arthur Arthur Arthur_ and Alfred couldn't be more glad.

He made a satisfied noise as he was manhandled and pushed down onto the bed by Arthur, who climbed up above him and straddled his hips, leaning back down to take claim over his lips over again. The sheets were soft but cold and Alfred could see Arthur shiver, goosebumps appearing on the skin of his thighs and Alfred smoothed a hand over them, warming his legs up. Arthur moaned in appreciation and went back to kissing the shell of Alfred's ears, and then down his jaw, and then proceeding nuzzling his neck.

"Arthur..." Alfred breathed. "Are we going to?"

Arthur made a noise that sounded like approval and trailed kisses along Alfred's chest. Then confirmed more vocally and breathlessly, "Yes."

"Top or bottom?" Alfred asked, his fingers brushing Arthur's messy blond hair, before moving down to undo a few buttons on Arthur's (technically his own) dress shirt.

"I want you," Arthur murmured into the junction between his shoulders and neck, and Alfred watched as the tips of his ears brightened with a blush again. "But... just lie down, alright? You don't have to do anything."

Alfred opened his mouth to protest but Arthur had dived in again and kissed him firmly on the lips, effectively silencing him. He traced the tips of his fingers along the shape of his body and Alfred shuddered, lips pressed closed to prevent a giggle from coming out.

His shirt had come off quickly and his pants had joined the pile on the floor after a few more difficulties of wriggling out of it. His glasses were mindlessly placed on the bedside table beside the lamp and a few books are another pair of glasses (were they Arthur's? But he's never seen Arthur in glasses before.) and only his underwear stayed, garter a bit stretched and clinging around his hips.

Arthur smiled and slowly peppered kisses down his chest and dipped a tongue into his navel and Alfred breathed hard and flinched, blushing a nice shade of pink as Arthur watched him through thick lashes. Then he bit the skin on his stomach and traced his fingers from the tanned skin of Alfred's knees to the insides of his sensitive crotch and Alfred clutched the bed sheets from flinching away because _god_ the feeling was overwhelming and Arthur's hand was so close, _so close_ —

Then there it was—the sweet pressure around the length of his dick pressed beneath the obscuring cloth of his briefs and the breath that was just about to leave Alfred's lungs hitched and was released along with a low reverberating sound, and it was music to Arthur's ears. Arthur nipped at his chest, kissing at the bony parts and biting his way down the fleshy ones, leaving wet bite marks all over his skin.

Alfred had his eyebrows scrunched up yet again and his hips jerking in the tiniest movements as Arthur's thumb started rubbing at the head and at the slit still through the barrier of cloth.

Alfred finally freed a moan, "A-Artie, stop," he hissed. Arthur looked at him. "The teasing. Stop teasing. I mean."

The Brit smiled, mischievous with a little touch of coyness and embarrassment, and kissed Alfred's jaw just right below his ears. "What would you want me to do, darling?" he mumbled, and Alfred's heart fluttered a little at the term of endearment. It was probably something slipped out at the heat of the moment.

"Just," he swallowed, and nuzzled the crook of Arthur's neck. "I don't know. Just do something. You know it gets me frustrated when you tease."

Arthur chuckled, "That was the point, was it not?"

Alfred pursed his lips and stared, watching as Arthur slipped of his union jack boxers and nonchalantly threw them behind him, landing on the hardcover books piled on top of his initial work desk. He was already half hard and about to strip off Alfred's dress shirt off him when the American stopped him, pulling the collar back up above his shoulders. "Wha—"

"Leave them on." Alfred said. Arthur only raised his eyebrows in a questioning reply to his request. "You.." he coughed awkwardly, averting his gaze away. "You look hot in them."

"I _am_ hot in them."

The man underneath mustered up a ferocious pout and half-glared at the man on top of him. "I didn't mean the _temperature_."

Kirkland's eyes widened in surprise before his lips curled up into a humoured smile, mouthing _oh_ before getting back to the task at hand. He bent down again to take Alfred's lips into his, sucking at the other's bottom lip and biting down onto it, and Alfred battled him off with his tongue, attempting to regain dominance despite the fact that he was underneath.

Somehow, by the time Arthur was groaning into his mouth and his arms were wrapped around his head and his fingers were tangled with the Brit's messy blond locks, his underwear was off and on the floor along with his shirt and pants and Alfred was somehow managing to take control over the sloppy wet kiss.

Arthur had found his way back onto Alfred's lap in the midst of fervent kissing, hips swaying and grinding himself down onto Alfred's own pelvis area, making it hard for the American to focus. He lifted his hips in search of more heat and friction and Arthur returned the favour with equal enthusiasm, wrapping his hand around both of their cocks to align it into a better position, coaxing Arthur's half hard member to life.

Though Alfred seemed a bit too far down the road.

"Ah," he breathed, head almost off the pillow where it had been just a few mere seconds ago, eyes far too distant, rolled all the way to the back of his head. "Ah—fucking—baby, wait—"

Arthur halted his movements and eyed the panting tanned man lying below him, eyebrows creased in what seemed like worry, or what Alfred presumed was annoyance since his performance was stopped. "Ah, bloody—sorry, love. Did I hurt you?"

"No," Alfred said shortly, bringing an arm up to his forehead in hopes it'd help him cool down and not jizz right there and then. _Love_. Arthur called him _love_. In that sexy, deep English accent that made Alfred jelly in the knees more than anything. Alfred had never heard Arthur call anyone 'love'; in any situations where he'd add in a term of endearment it would usually be ' _dear_ ' or ' _darling_ '. Never _love_. His heart fluttered, still deep inside his ribcage, slowly filling with warmth, overlapping the over-thinking part of his brain that kept on forcing him to believe that this might just be wishful thinking.

His eyes met Arthur's own uniquely coloured and beautifully expressive ones, in the colour that reminded Alfred of illuminated olives with added touches of deep emotions that his lips had never parted to ever say or that his hands have never bothered to move to ever express. But then he blinked and his long blond lashes had fluttered to tickle his cheeks and when they reopened Alfred realized something he had missed all the way along.

"Love," Arthur had uttered, referred to him, just a few moments ago. It was one of those moments where the depth, expressions in his eyes matched the words rolling off his tongue.

Alfred had to move his arm further down to cover his eyes and a portion of his cheeks, which were darkened by a blush. Arthur continued to look at him in confusion, still straddling his hips. Alfred finally peaked one eye open and immediately averted them as soon as he met Arthur's, muttering, "If you hadn't stopped I would've came."

The laughter that bubbled from Arthur's throat was strained and odd and low but nevertheless the American still found it cute and somewhat offensive due to the current situation. "We have all evening, Jones. It would do you no harm to come right now."

Alfred blushed further and rolled his eyes, "Still. It would be better if. You know. We do it together. Makes it special. Uh, or at least close enough," he mumbled, glaring at the painting nailed on to the wall just past a stray strand of Arthur's ever so unruly hair.

The Brit's cheeks darkened a bit, looking embarrassed but still rather pleased at Alfred's words. He ducked his head and leaned onto the other's chest, making Alfred shiver as warm breath coated over the chilly air inside their room. It was winter, after all. No matter how high the heaters were it was still just above zero degrees celsius outside and it was partially chilly in the room, and everything felt cold to Alfred except for his face and Arthur's touch and Arthur's smile and Arthur's bed and _Arthur_.

Alfred reached under the soft cotton cloth of his dress shirt and brought a hand onto the Briton's back and started tracing lines down the bones outlined through his pale, skinny back, moving his head so Arthur could fit his own in the space near the junction of Alfred's shoulder and neck. He pressed the palm of his hands over the lumps of Arthur's ribs, trailing his hands down, past his waist, and further downwards, past his hips, and reach for his lower back.

Arthur shivered and shuddered into Alfred's shoulder and placed both his elbows on either side of his shoulders, lifting his ass higher up into the air. Tracing a finger lightly over the skin just above the crack of Arthur's butt, Alfred smiled and watched as the muscles twitched and Arthur jumped ever so slightly, and bit his lip listening at the hitching breath right beside his ears.

"Lube," he muttered, and Arthur lifted his head up to give him a small glare and quickly bit his jaw, before lifting up some of the pillows underneath them and retrieving a small green bottle from underneath. Shooting Arthur an impressed look after eyeing it with curiosity, he said, "Lube under the pillows? Kinky."

"Shut up," Arthur grumbled, and looked like he was meaning to say more, but Alfred shushed him with a 'shh' and pulled his head back into his shoulders, simultaneously dragging down the rest of the Brit's body and leaving his lower back raised up into the air.

A noise that sounded suspiciously like an embarrassed yet annoyed groan was emitted deep from withing Arthur's throat and Alfred all but smiled in response, carefully pouring a precise amount of the liquid on his thumb and shutting the lid close. If he used it excessively then he'd probably get another one of those ranty, naggy things that Arthur does when he does something wrong, but Alfred wants the week spent carefully and happily.

He rubbed on the tailbone, letting the fluid slide down the palm of his hand and in between Arthur's butt crack, and Arthur gave an ' _ahh_ —' but silenced himself almost immediately. In the back of his own mind, Alfred made a mental resolve to make Arthur make loud, uncontrollable noises as much as possible.

His other hand stopped callousing Arthur's arm and slid down to grope one of the cheeks and pull them apart, squeezing it into his hand, and Arthur growled at him from his right. Alfred took more of the lube, pouring some on Arthur's ass instead, half afraid that it would drip up his back due to the angle he was positioned in. But he quickly scooped it in one finger and pressed his fingers into the hole, slowly easing it in. Arthur's breathing hitched.

"You okay, babe?" Alfred asked, turning his head just as Arthur turned his'. The tips of their nose bumped rather roughly and Alfred took the opportunity to steal a quick peck on the lips.

Contrary to the reaction Alfred had expected he'd get—all Arthur did was pout his lips out and lean in for more kissing. He breathed out a ' _yes_ ' and Alfred wiggled more of the finger in, pushing in and out, until he decided that it was loose enough to fit another finger, then two.

Soon enough he was scissoring his fingers and Arthur was rocking his hips back against the digits inside of him and Alfred was definitely uncomfortably hard, his erection standing high and proud in the air, the tip once in a while brushing against Arthur's stomach. Arthur made little satisfied noises every time Alfred would near a particularly sensitive spot, and Alfred would moan quietly when Arthur would lean down and let his cock grind onto his stomach.

And then at random, Arthur pushed himself up (not before placing a kiss on Alfred's jaw), half forcing the American to pull out, hands wet and borderline wrinkly with leftover lube and the look in his eyes were of pure confusion, which increased when Arthur hauled himself up into a kneeling position. Then he gasps when the Brit's cold fingers wrap around his cock, thumb playing and teasing the slit. Alfred hissed in pleasure.

Arthur took the bottle of lube into his hands and poured a generous amount before slicking up Alfred's cock, angry red and hard and definitely enthusiastic. Cerulean eyes stayed focused on Arthur's pale hands as he worked on slicking up Alfred's sex, and then trailed up Arthur's body, admiring the erect pink nipples, the bite marks he'd managed to land on his shoulder, and eventually looked into his emerald eyes—which were focused on working on his, _his_ —

 _Oh shit_ —

Alfred's hips gave an involuntary jerk as Arthur trailed a dainty finger up the bulging vein at the underside of his cock, and he glared up as Arthur gave him a tiny (and definitely sly) smile. The Brit crawled up and settled on his hips, his hands disappearing into his backside and away from Alfred's view, head dipping down to lay on Alfred's chest.

Panting, and with absolutely no warning, he took Alfred's cock and positioned it just near his entrance, and promptly slammed his way down, taking Alfred all at once. _Balls deep_ , Alfred would describe it with a laugh, but. As of now no one was laughing and in stead—

Alfred hissed and grunted so loudly it echoed throughout the room (because Arthur was tight, _so fucking tight_ , and hot and clenching around his cock like he was trying to milk him dry) along with Arthur's scream (because the burning sensation of slamming his way in hurt like a motherfucker but it felt good, oh _so good_ ), tossing his head back into the pillow, mouth opened up to give a loud moan.

Arthur had taken a habit into scratching and biting and pulling whatever he could reach whenever something was painful and so good during sex—which probably started halfway through the history of their sex life where Alfred figured out all of his spots and where to fuck and _how_ to fuck—and right now he was biting down onto Alfred's shoulder and panting and making these weird little noises that made Alfred want to toss him onto his back and fuck him so good he'd lose his voice from screaming but decided against it. Instead he bit his lip and rubbed a soothing, encouraging hand on Arthur's back and used the other to grip his wrists, waiting for Arthur to come around and start whenever he'd like.

Eventually Arthur had realized he had to start moving and properly sat up, rolling his hips counter-clockwise and then clockwise and Alfred was wincing and trying very hard not to actually toss him on his back and fuck him into oblivion. A pink tongue stuck out and ran its way along the Briton's dry lips, watching as Alfred squirmed under him in attempts to be considerate and wait until Arthur was used to the feeling and burn of having his thick cock buried deep inside his ass.

Arthur lifted himself up until only the head was inside him and slammed back down, the pain of a sudden entrance more of a pleasure than it was a while ago. Alfred had jerked again and gripped so hard on Arthur's hips he felt it was going to bruise. So Arthur pried his fingers away and entwined them with his own, pinning them down on the bed at the same time, rolling his own hips.

It was a little weird—usually it was Alfred who was enthusiastic and so utterly dominant during their special escapades, while Arthur would just lie there and participate half-heartedly whilst Alfred fucks him into the mattress. Now the so-called stingy, prudish little limey was pinning his body into the mattress and watching him with such captivating green eyes, sweat forming along the lines of his forehead and dripping down past his thick eyebrows and down his face from all the exerted energy.

"Ah, _shit_ ,"

—and despite the fact that Alfred preferred to take control in bed, to hell if he didn't get absolutely turned on by watching his usual submissive take control and ride him so hard _he's_ the one reduced into a writhing mess.

Alfred's cock twitched, ceaselessly being engulfed by the tight heat of the insides of Arthur's rear end, cheeks slapping down onto his thighs (creating slapping skin to skin noises that bounced of the apartment walls of London along with the slicking noises of lube and pre-come). The white dress shirt was now almost hanging off Arthur's shoulder and Alfred was sure as fuck this was one of the most erotic things he's ever seen in his life.

Then Arthur stiffened and arched and threw his head back and moaned with a, "Bloody fucking—! Ah, Al— _Alfred_ ," and Alfred had to bite his lip from luring his orgasm closer than it currently was.

"Did that feel good, baby?" Alfred managed to croak, albeit a little bit husky. A stronger blush and a glare was thrown at his direction alongside with moving lips that mouthed _shut the fuck up_ from the man above him, and retorted with a stronger twist of his hips and squeezed hard around the thickness of Alfred's shaft that made Alfred buck up (" _Fucking_ _fucks_ —Artie, don't do that!").

Then Arthur started vigorously riding him again, pushing back down on Alfred's chest when Al would buck up or try to do whatever. He gave this kind of glare that would attempt trying to put the American into his current position—that he was supposed to lie down and just take what he is given.

(But hey, if you're enthusiastic and young and dominant as fuck, you can't really control that urge to try and flip whoever's dominating you and fuck the dominance out of them so hard that they scream into submission.)

Alfred was stubborn and stubborn people never give up trying to get what they want so instead of trying to pin Arthur underneath him, he grabbed his wrists and pulled him down until their chests were skin to skin. Arthur gasped and looked at him in semi-confusion, eyes attempting to figure out what Alfred was planning while trying to free his hands from above the other's head at the same moment.

Then Alfred thrust his hips up in a rough motion, and assumed the fat head of his cock hit directly against Arthur's prostate by the strangled shout of a moan that made it's way past Arthur's lips.

Arthur really did try to pull his hands away from Alfred's grip; but every time he would tug his arms back, Alfred would push up into his ass and his muscles would turn into jelly without his consent. He'd tried to twist his wrists and bite Alfred's neck and lips and nose and attempt to form croaked commands of unhanding him but Alfred would always ram his dick up into his tightening hole and he'd be forced to practically choke on his own moans. So much so his efforts were basically deemed useless.

God, did Alfred love how much of a blatant, writhing mess Arthur turned into his arms.

After a few minutes Arthur gave up and retaliated with efforts of hurting Alfred in the smallest ways; like leaving bite marks and hickeys and trails of his teeth on his upper torso and neck (or anything that he could reach with his hands bounded over both his and Alfred's head, really) or clawing on those stubborn fingers persistently wrapped around the pale skin of his wrists.

He was still sitting, maybe half lying down, on Alfred—the only difference is that he was bouncing without an effort of moving himself. Alfred, full of youthful enthusiasm, had managed to find his way of ramming into Arthur in such a position, his own body only suffering the burn of his thighs from repeated clenching as he stretched off the bed, partially and languidly arching his back to bury himself balls deep into Arthur. The Brit panted and gasped and moaned (in a weird, cut off way: something that sounded like music, like an 'a-ahhh-a-a-ahh-ahhh- _oh_ ') and bent his back in such an attractive way from above, clenching his eyes and trying not to watch as Alfred rolled his hips into him; the muscles on his stomach clenching with every movement and the sweat trailing down the sides of his head.

The mattress had started to make horrible creaking sounds and both of them were sure either the wall or the floor would be dented by rough movements, but neither did care. Arthur started moving—he slammed himself down while Alfred rolled his hips up and he cried out and gasped louder when he felt warm hands wrapping itself around his stiff cock, thumbs running along the slit, wet and sticky with pre-cum. The American had started to get more verbal and encouraged Arthur more, knowing that the louder and the more talkative he gets, the closer he is to completion.

Alfred's hands had gone from gentle to teasing to rough, squeezing tightly around his shaft and tugging and making Arthur shout a continuous shout of "Alfred, Alfred, Alfred, ah- Alfred!" and Alfred decided for the millionth time ever since they've started dating that he loved the way his real name rolled off of Arthur's tongue. He moaned an "Arthur," out in response and Arthur retorted with another squeeze around Alfred's probably-leaking cock (it was getting easy to slide in and out) and angled his hips and _yelled._

"You," Alfred breathlessly groaned out and captured Arthur's open, drooling mouth into a kiss, tongue pressing against the Brit's once before pulling away. His thrusts were getting frantic and breath hitching too often like he was trying to control— "Better be coming, sweetheart, _oh—_ " and threw his head back, legs quivering as he roughly jolted up to sheath himself filling himself deep inside Arthur's abused ass.

At the sight of Alfred grunting and bucking up and throwing his head back (baring his neck of the bites and the hickeys and the marks telling him that _yes, Alfred is his_ ) and the thought of Alfred filling himself with his semen, Arthur finally sat fully on Alfred's cock and buried his teeth onto his shoulders and came on Alfred's chest, eyes clenched shut and hands gripped on Alfred's hand.

A few seconds of listening to each other's heartbeats, Arthur rolled off of Alfred and onto the cold side of the bed, arm wrapped around his shoulder and face buried into the crook of his neck, kissing the hickeys in apology for the roughness. Jones smiled and wrapped his legs around Arthur's bare ones, pulling him closer and settling his hand to draw circles on his back, who made a pleased sound and kept his lips pressed onto the other's collarbone.

"Don't you love post-sex cuddling?" Alfred teased into Arthur's bed hair.

He felt Alfred's damp lips curved against the skin of his forehead, and returned with a slap to the other's bum, murmuring drowsily, "Not when you're being obnoxious. Go to sleep,"

Alfred hummed and let his hand trace circles and randomized shapes on Arthur's back with his fingertips, appreciating the tiny shudder he got in return. Eventually his eyelids got heavy and so did the motivation to lift up his hand, so he settled down with pressing his hand flat on Arthur's back and moving his thumbs back and forth. Arthur let out a pleased sound and snuggled closer into Alfred's arms, his own hands wandering on the warmness of the American's tanned skin.

After minutes had passed and Arthur's breath had evened out into a pattern against him, Alfred peaked an eye open, checking to see if the other was awake. "Arthur?" he whispered.

The faint sound of the Briton's snores was all he got.

He let a smaller yet more genuine smile tug at his face and he placed another kiss on Arthur's hair. "Missed you," he mumbled. The warm breath caressing his skin paused, and so did Alfred. Then it continued on as if nothing has happened. By then the American's heart was hammering in his chest, and every ounce of him wished that he either had the courage to tell him outright or hoping that by some miracle Arthur had heard him through his sleep.

Just when he was about to fall back into unconsciousness, Arthur's head turned so that he had completely buried his face into Alfred's chest and with his lips so close, Alfred had barely felt the "I missed you, too," whispered under his breath.

**Author's Note:**

> ao3 thank u for being my pornhub. & here you guys go, since you were so nice to me on my first post, i found and patched up a lonely smut fic rotting in my folder. (thank you ///u///)


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